


Ablation

by ACometAppears, ataxophilia



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Daemons, Brainwashing, Daemons, Gen, M/M, Mild Language, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-06 11:47:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1856925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ACometAppears/pseuds/ACometAppears, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ataxophilia/pseuds/ataxophilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky had a daemon. The Winter Soldier doesn't have one. </p><p>His Dark Materials AU for the Captain America movies; Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I really love His Dark Materials (the trilogy by Philip Pullman that begins with Northern Lights aka The Golden Compass), and I really love AUs. So here we are!! 
> 
> This fic will be in two parts - the first focussing on Captain America: The First Avenger, and the second following up with the AU for the events of Captain America: The Winter Soldier. 
> 
> This is a collaboration with ataxophilia (makepieswakethedead on tumblr): I came up with the general idea for the Winter Soldier part of this AU, and she gave me a whole load of details to flesh it out, and make it into a fully-realised story, without which I could never have written this. When I got to writing it, I realised that I wanted to write the First Avenger part of the AU, too. This chapter is more like a preface, really - the next one is longer, and a lot more detailed. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this :)
> 
> (side-note: Bucky's daemon is named after his sister in the comics; Steve's daemon is named after the second Captain Britain)

Steve meets Bucky before his daemon has even settled. 

They share a childhood full of Steve getting into fights in the schoolyard, standing up to bullies; his daemon shifting between different predators as he tussles with them. She's smaller than the daemons she insists on fighting, just like Steve's smaller than the bullies. That never puts either of them off, though. 

The day they meet, it's because Bucky sees Steve being beaten up on his way home from school, and he decides to do something about it. Bucky's always been a fighter, scrappy by nature and always spoiling for a fight, if the circumstances are right: his daemon settled early, in the wake of his mother passing away, and his father – a soldier – dying during a routine training exercise. Bucky came from a long line of soldiers and military personnel: it was no surprise when his daemon settled as a German shepherd, loyal and faithful; obedient, but potentially fearsome, with a troubling reputation. 

Her fur is a marble of light and dark brown; she's lean but large, and powerful. She's the type of daemon you grow into, indicative of a tough childhood, cut tragically short. 

She scares the shit out of the bullies, when she steps in front of Steve’s daemon, growling and defending the both of them: Bucky tells them to pick on someone their own size. They run away pretty quickly, after that. 

Bucky turns around, and sees Steve staring at him warily, his daemon (though clearly relieved that she can stop fighting, for now) still bristling and on the defensive.  
“You okay?” He asks. Steve nods, so he asks, “Why where they hurting you?” 

Steve half-shrugs, still tense. “. . . They were saying some not-so-nice stuff about my Mom,”  
Bucky raises one eyebrow. “So you tried to fight them?” His eyes slide over Steve’s smaller-than-average daemon. It’s proportional to his body size, not having settled, yet: stature is often decided when the person’s personality has developed fully, along with the daemon’s final form.  
“. . . Yeah,” Steve says, not feeling the least bit foolish. He just looks so _serious_ , that it makes Bucky laugh.  
“What?” Steve asks, looking annoyed.  
“Nothing. You’re a punk,” Bucky replies, amusement obvious in his voice.  
“I’m not!” Steve insists, clenching his tiny fists at his sides.  
“Relax – you’re gonna give yourself a heart attack,” Bucky says, stepping closer. “What’s your name, kid?” 

Steve looks Bucky up and down for a moment, trying to decide if he’s genuinely being friendly, or if he’s going to start picking on him any minute, for real (rather than just teasing him). Steve likes to think the best of folks, though: this guy just stood up for him, when he could have easily joined in, and helped beat him up. He seems like a good guy – a friend, maybe. Steve doesn’t have many friends. 

Steve sighs, and stoops to pick up his daemon: she transforms into a mouse, climbing into his hand, and he puts her in his shirt pocket.  
“Steve Rogers,” He tells Bucky. “. . . This is Betsy,” He says, nodding at his pocket.  
“I’m James – call me Bucky,” Bucky tells him, reaching out to shake Steve’s hand. Steve takes it, smiling for the first time since he heard one of the bullies start to spout garbage about his Mom.  
“I’m Rebecca, by the way,” Bucky’s daemon tells Steve, nipping at Bucky’s heels playfully. “Jerk,” She hisses. Bucky frowns down at her, though he’s amused. 

Steve doesn’t think someone else’s daemon has ever talked directly to him, before. Nor has he ever seen someone’s daemon interact with them like Rebecca does with Bucky. 

He’s immediately taken with them – not just because of their interesting dynamic, but because they chose to defend him. They’re strong, and intelligent, and brave . . . And they threw their lot in with Steve, and Betsy. 

He can’t fathom it. 

It’s not a surprise when Betsy settles as a Golden Retriever: she does so quite late, Steve’s innocent optimism sticking to him until his mother passes away of tuberculosis. She settles on the day of the funeral. Bucky’s proud of him, when that happens. 

Steve’s loyal, and strong in character (if not in his body – his health problems only get worse and worse, as he grows up); a dog daemon reflects that. 

And, besides – he’s looked up to Bucky for a long time, now. It makes sense that the guy he’s closest to in the world - the guy he’d follow anywhere and who’d defend him and follow him to the end of the Earth - would have some effect on the form his daemon takes. 

The surprising thing, to everyone who’s ever seen Steve, is the size of Betsy: she’s huge, and about half his height; when Steve lies down, she’s around as long as he is. The only one who isn’t surprised is Bucky: he claps Steve on the shoulder, and smiles down at him, like he saw everything Betsy’s form stands for in Steve all along. 

Loyalty, bravery, faithfulness. And the size and strength to fight for those ideals. 

Steve feels like he’s letting her down, being so small and weak. But Bucky says that’s garbage, so he tries not to feel that way. 

-

The night before Bucky leaves for war, he says goodbye to them in an incredibly intimate way. He hugs Steve, sure, and promises not to win the war til he gets there: but he also stoops down, and looks into Betsy’s eyes, too. His own daemon stands behind him, watching, for the time being. 

“I’ll miss you, too,” Bucky tells Betsy. Then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he reaches out and tickles her behind her ears. 

Steve can’t even describe what it feels like: euphoria, is probably the best word for it, though even that word can't fully encapsulate the feeling. It’s overwhelming, but not unpleasant – he’s never felt anything like it before. He’s aware that Bucky’s looking up at him, now, and that he’s blushing, and he’s on the verge of an asthma attack – but he just doesn’t care, at all. 

Bucky’s expression is knowing – but Steve can’t imagine he’s ever done this, with anyone else. It’s just so intimate, and personal. He hopes no one’s watching them: this is a public place, after all. 

The moment Bucky’s hand leaves Betsy’s fur, and he hears her whine, he knows they’ve both got it bad for their best friend. 

Steve doesn’t even notice that Rebecca’s been rubbing gently against his leg the whole time. Not until Bucky walks away, hand in the scruff of his daemon’s neck to comfort her. He straightens up after a few seconds, hands in his pockets, with the German shepherd at his heels, leaving Steve’s life irrevocably changed. 

Steve looks down at Betsy, and she stares back up at him, their thoughts completely synchronised. 

“We have to follow them,” She tells him. He just nods: he can’t even think of disagreeing. 

They go and try and enlist immediately. 

-

Erskine is extremely insistent that Steve be given the serum. One conversation was all it took to convince him: the many tries at enlisting, the attitude towards bullies – and the sweet way Steve is with his daemon. Her nose nudges at his hand as he speaks, and he absent-mindedly pets her in return. 

The doctor explains, the night before the procedure, that one look would have been enough: the Golden Retriever at his side is clearly intelligent, and alert; she’s pure, and good, and everything Erskine’s been looking for. He was forced to try out the serum on Johann Schmitt, before – a man with a red snake-daemon, who lived up to the maliciousness that entailed – and received sinister results. He was horrified, but ultimately miserably unsurprised, by the outcome of that experiment. 

Peggy Carter believes in him just as much as Erskine does: she clearly understands what it’s like to be underestimated. She’s professional, and tough – but she’s clearly a fighter, just like Steve. The fact her daemon is a bobcat, beautiful and affectionate with her, but vicious when necessary, betrays her inner drive to fight against all the odds and prejudices that have been set against her. She doesn’t trust others easily, but she trusts Steve: he earned it, both by jumping on grenades and by being polite, and honourable, and diligent on every occasion she’s seen or spoken to him. 

Steve has so much respect for her. She’s part of the reason Colonel Phillips – who took one look at Steve’s skinny, 4F frame and dismissed him – was convinced to allow him to be the doctor’s first (and unfortunately, only) test subject. 

When he undergoes the procedure, the qualities Peggy and Erskine (and Bucky) saw in him all along come shining through: bravery, and strength, and a ceaseless urge to fight for what’s right, and what he believes in. 

Those two things are unwaveringly the same, they find. 

-

Steve comes across Bucky again in a HYDRA facility. He rounds the corner, walks through the door, and spots his friend: he's one of the main reasons Steve decided to undertake this mission, with Peggy and Howard’s help, in the first place - aside from his belief that no man should be left behind. He feels nervous and sick at the sight of him, muttering up at the ceiling, tied down with blood dripping from his ear. 

“Where’s Rebecca?” Betsy whispers, as they hurry over to Bucky. Steve’s eyes dart around the room: they spot a cage, in the corner. But Steve wants to get to Bucky, first – he wouldn’t want to touch Rebecca. _Not right now_. 

“Barnes . . . 3-2-5-5-7 . . .” Bucky’s mumbling, eyes glazed over.  
“Bucky? . . . Oh, God,” Steve murmurs, undoing the restraints holding his friend down. “Bucky, it’s me,” He tells him hurriedly, looking out for any sign that they’re going to be discovered.  
“. . . Steve,” Bucky says, eyes finally focussing on his friend, and lighting up like the 4th of July. The goofy smile on his face is borne of stupid amounts of joy, and relief – Bucky’s hands reach for Steve, making sure he’s really there. He’s in a really bad way, it’s clear. Steve wonders how many times Bucky’s imagined someone coming to save him from what’s clearly been a long period of torture, and maltreatment . . . He wonders if he ever imagined that it would be little Steve Rogers, who he’s defended since he was a kid, and whose daemon he’s touched, that came to save him. 

Steve hauls him up: Bucky’s eyes roam over him, wide and confused; he looks Steve up and down, blinking hard, and taking in the physical changes.  
“What happened to you?” He breathes.  
“We joined the army,” Betsy tells him, sniffing at him to see if he’s okay (but not touching him outright). 

Bucky blinks down at her, still not completely understanding.  
“I’ll explain later,” Steve says. Bucky gulps, and looks around, his vision still blurry – he bites his lip, and Steve notices he’s shaking slightly. He’s searching the room avidly, and Steve knows what for.  
“Over there,” He says, pointing. Bucky rushes in the direction he indicates, stooping though his muscles ache, and his joints complain, and his head throbs with the sudden change of position – he reaches forward, unlocking cage that confines Rebecca. 

Steve’s never seen Bucky be particularly affectionate with his daemon, before: they’re tough as old boots, and they’d much rather snipe at one another than cuddle. The closest they usually get is Bucky’s left hand in the scruff of her neck, a gesture of solidarity: usually, she’s nipping at his heels, or he’s playfully swiping at her nose. 

That’s not what’s happening, now. Bucky throws his arms around her, burying his face in her thick fur, which is slightly matted with neglect. Steve watches him take a deep breath, inhaling her scent. He’s not entirely sure he doesn’t see Bucky sob into her fur, as she rests her head on his shoulder. 

Steve is saddened, as he watches the reunion: it hurts him to see Bucky so broken down. 

Bucky stands, and makes his way over to Steve. His steps are wobbly, and his hand is in Rebecca’s fur, as he walks, for support.  
“We’ve gotta go,” Steve tells him. Bucky nods, not making a sarcastic comment thanking Steve for pointing out the obvious, as he might usually. They make their way away from that room, leaving behind the scent of blood, and piss, and fear. 

Steve doesn’t notice, in his haste, that the cage Rebecca was being contained in was further away from Bucky than any normal human can withstand their daemon being without experiencing serious ill effects. 

He doesn’t notice that Bucky and Rebecca can stray much further from each other after they’re saved, either. 

-

Bucky falls. Rebecca jumps after him. 

-

The plane crash doesn’t happen like people think. Yes, Steve crashes the craft into the ice, saving countess lives, and sacrificing his own – but he doesn’t die straight away. 

They find his body far from the chair he was in when he put the plane down in the ice: he dragged himself, with shattered bones and bleeding wounds, guided by eyes nearly blind with the force of his concussion, to Betsy. 

He claws his way across the floor to her, gradually freezing, and buries his face in her white-gold, shaggy fur, and rasping out:  
“I’m sorry,”  
“I know,” She tells him. “You did good, though. He’d be proud,” She murmurs. 

Steve doesn’t have to ask who she means: despite the fact that his brain is shutting down, freezing over with the cold and the shock of the crash, he can still see Bucky’s face as clear as day. He can feel Bucky’s hand on Betsy, the night he went to war; can feel Rebecca brushing up against his leg, though he only realised she’d done so, later. 

He can feel Bucky’s lips against his own, private in the shelter of their tent after the rescue; their daemons entwined in one another, just as their bodies were. He remembers their hands grasping at fur, unable to tell where one daemon ended and the other began, frenzied and desperate; disregarding boundaries, and simply revelling in touching one another in that extremely private way, and the euphoria that it brought. Though they did have sex, when they touched one another’s’ daemons, it was strangely more intimate – it was often a kind of foreplay, a show of trust, and a statement of love, before they began to touch one another’s bodies. 

He can feel those various touches now, as consciousness seeps away from him. He expects Betsy to disintegrate into _dust_ , her form falling away into nothingness, when he dies; expects his head to clunk down onto the hard floor, no longer supported by her body; his body an empty vessel.  
He doesn’t feel it. Maybe he just loses consciousness first. 

Maybe it never happens. He doesn’t – _can’t_ know. 

-

Betsy guards Steve’s body. She guards him for decades: silent, unmoving, but alive, and watching over him. 

So when the men from SHIELD cut a hole in the roof of the plane, abseiling down into the cockpit, she gets up for the first time in many, many years, and growls at them. She doesn’t speak to them – she hasn’t spoken in years – but she makes it abundantly clear that she won’t let them touch Steve without a fight. 

It takes a long, long time for one of their daemons to convince her that they’re there to help Steve; they didn’t think Steve was alive, but they’re glad that he is. They’re American, from SHIELD – she’s not sure what that is, but they say they want to help. 

She eyes the man’s lizard-daemon carefully: the way she’s talking makes it clear that she and her human are clever, but that doesn’t guarantee that they’re trustworthy. But when she looks at Steve, frozen and passed-out in the ice, she realises that she can’t let him stay here. He’ll keep on existing, sure – but he’s not really _alive_. He’s just asleep. 

She knows he’d much rather be awake, and helping fight the good fight, again. She’s not sure how long it’s been, exactly – but she hopes he still has a role to play in the world. 

She hopes, though, that they need him less now than they did before – the war is over, _we won_ , they tell her, as she’s their only way of communicating with Steve. He can’t hear her, right now, though. He's too far under. 

She knows what he’d want, though. He’d want to stand up against all the injustices in this new, modern world they’re being introduced into. 

They tell her it’s been seventy years. 

-

Steve doesn’t take the news that he’s been asleep for seven decades as well as Betsy does – though he thanks her, profusely, for standing vigil that long. Daemons aren’t made of the same kind of matter as their humans: they used to call what they’re made of _dust_ , back in the forties. It has a more technical name Steve isn’t sure he wants to know, nowadays. He much prefers leaving the fact that a piece of his soul walks beside him a mystery. He’s just grateful he has her, as a companion. 

It’s just one of the things in the future that he can’t seem to get into his head; that he doesn’t want to accept. Another one is that Peggy is an old woman, now – she can’t remember him, really, except on her very good days. Another is that Bucky is still dead, and that will never change. 

He misses Peggy and Bucky dearly: to him, they were home, whichever country they were in. He misses Peggy’s bobcat daemon – George, he recalls he was called – and he misses Rebecca, as he knows Betsy does, too. He misses the food, and the clothing, and the buildings, and _home_. He misses his best friend. 

He misses not having to fight goddamn aliens, which are hell-bent on destroying the city he grew up in, and the world. 

He won’t let them take New York – the only remnant of Bucky he has left – away from him. 

Betsy tells him he needs to move on – though he knows she doesn’t want to, really, either. He never knew that daemons fall for one another, too. 

So they move to Washington DC, after the attack on New York, and meeting the other members of the team Nick Fury referred to as the _Avengers_. He works for SHIELD, and he does some good. 

Life is relatively simple, for both him and Betsy - if not full, and completely happy. 

It soon takes a turn for the complicated, and dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your support so far!! This chapter will be a lot longer than the first chapter, and more detailed, featuring a whole host of ideas that ataxophilia (wearealsoboats on tumblr) gave me while we were discussing this AU. I hope it lives up to your expectations!! 
> 
> Enjoy :)
> 
> (side-note: we were particularly passionate about Natasha and her daemon in our discussions. I decided to name him after Alexi Shostakov, the Red Guardian - the Russian equivalent of Captain America, with whom Natasha had a relationship in the comics)

Nick Fury is attacked in the streets of DC (to put it mildly). He decides to bring his extremely bad day to Steve’s apartment. 

SHIELD is compromised. Steve is the only person left that Nick can trust – but Steve’s apartment turns out not to be safe, either. All of a sudden there’s a hole blown through his wall, and Fury’s been hit, and his neighbour isn’t as uncomplicated as she seemed – just like his life. Steve’s in pursuit of the shooter, Betsy running alongside him, sniffing out where the figure went when Steve can’t quite see. 

Steve bursts out onto a rooftop, Betsy growling as he throws his shield, trying to take down the shooter, and catch him off-guard. 

But the shooter turns around just in time, reaching out and catching the shield with an arm made of articulated shining, silver metal – his eyes are dark, and shrouded in smudged black paint. He wears a mask, just as black as the rest of his clothes, and his hair hangs chaotically around his obscured face. 

Betsy bristles, and growls low in her throat. Steve knows why: aside from the fact this man just shot Nick Fury in cold blood, there’s something intrinsically wrong with him. 

They can’t see the man’s daemon. 

Sure, it could just be really small – but it’s a well-documented fact that being unable to see someone’s daemon is just something that unnerves people. It’s hard to relax, or focus, when you can’t see a person’s soul beside them, or at their back, or in their pocket . . . It’s hard to see them as anything but a _monster_. Because you can’t be human without a daemon; you can’t even be alive. 

The man throws Steve’s shield back at him, hitting him right in the stomach, and causing him to double over: when Steve straightens, he’s gone. 

“What the . . . ?” Steve pants, as he approaches the edge of the building. He looks down at Betsy, expecting her to say something. She stares over the edge, and says nothing. It makes him feel nervous. Like there’s something she knows, that he doesn’t. 

That’s not a natural thing for any man to feel. 

-

Nick Fury dies. His raven daemon isn’t there anymore, at his side, by the time Steve gets there: the doctors work on his body, but she’s gone, and so Nick’s got to follow. 

Natasha asks all the expected questions. The type of slug they pull from Nick, and what the shooter looks like. _He’s fast. He’s strong. He has a metal arm._

Then she asks, “His daemon?” 

Steve pauses, Betsy looking away from him. He frowns down at her, never having experienced this level of disconnection from his daemon before in his life. She wants to tell him something, but she’s afraid to. 

“. . . I didn’t see one,” Steve tells Natasha, looking up at her finally.  
“You didn’t smell one?” Natasha’s wildcat daemon, Alexi, asks Betsy.  
“No,” Steve’s daemon replies quietly. 

It’s unusual for her not to smell another daemon – but not unheard of. Some daemons are kept in a box about their human’s person, for protection purposes. That fits with the _he has a small daemon_ theory. 

But Steve’s stomach feels like a pit, when he considers that. There’s just something so wrong about the shooter – not even Betsy knows what it is, probably. 

Just seeing a man without a daemon . . . It’s sickening. 

-

Later, after Steve and Betsy have fought their way out of an elevator, having been threatened with restraints and a muzzle and people trying to _touch_ her, they meet up with Natasha: of course, she was holding back information. It’s what she deals in, and she won’t give it away easy. Not for free, usually. 

She’s encountered the shooter before. He’s a ghost story – _the Winter Soldier_. Some people say he’s not just a story, but an actual ghost: he’d have to be – because they also say he has no daemon. No soul. He’s a monster: intangible, uncatchable, inhuman. 

But she knows he exists: he's shot her, before now. The thought of him makes her feel sick, and sorry: Steve can see it in her eyes, and the way that the European wildcat at her feet wraps its bushy tail around her leg, fur standing on end. Her expression is unfaltering, but he’s unable to keep that tail from twitching. 

He knows that Natasha and her daemon are a special case, though – he doesn’t quite know the full story, but he knows it’s not _nice_ – so he’s not sure what to make of their reaction. 

-

Even with Natasha and Alexi, and Sam and his falcon-daemon Redwing, there to support him, Steve can’t help but feel like he’s been gutted when he wrenches off the Winter Soldier’s mask, in the midst of their fight. 

The man’s head turns, and Steve catches sight of his face, and his world just stops. Everything is silent for just an impossibly lengthy second, as Steve registers the darkness in his eyes – _the coldness, the emptiness, the soullessness-_

But that’s a whole other issue. 

Steve feels as if he’s about the throw up. Because he’s looking at Bucky, and either side of him, and just behind him. 

And Rebecca’s not there. She’s gone. 

Bucky should be dead. 

But he’s there. _Bucky is right there, in front of him._

He has no daemon. 

_Bucky has no daemon._

Those few thoughts echo around his head, as if his skull is empty; like his mind is gone, and has been replaced with just those few concepts rattling around up there. He freezes up, squinting in the bright light of the day, as the Winter Soldier – as _Bucky_ glares murderously at him. 

“Bucky?” He breathes, finally, hoping against hope that the German shepherd he’s looking for will come bounding out from behind the assassin, ready to rough-and-tumble with Betsy. 

Betsy must have known all along – she knew that they knew the shooter, and that he should have had a large daemon, from the smell of him; the feel of him. But she hadn’t been able to tell Steve. 

Rebecca doesn’t appear. And Bucky’s words are like a knife to his gut, still in Bucky’s old voice, just helping to confirm Steve’s hopes and fears that _yes, it’s Bucky, and no, he doesn’t have a daemon anymore._

“Who the hell is Bucky?” 

-

The Winter Soldier’s thousand-yard stare betrays nothing of the inner turmoil he’s facing. 

He catches glimpses of an unhappy, terrifying past he can only partly remember – an arm hacked off without anaesthetic; a prosthesis fitted without his consent, bulky and medieval and barbaric, solely meant for killing and maiming. 

He remembers pain. A lot of it. And an intimate, uncomfortable, squirming, sickening sensation of _wrongness_ whose source he can’t quite understand; can’t quite remember. 

He doesn’t know it’s because HYDRA handled his daemon, clinically and without respect, or care, or permission, decades ago. Before they cut her away. 

All he knows is that it felt completely and utterly _wrong._

None of the rest of it feels wrong: missions, killings, repairs, status-reports, and mind-wipes are all necessary, and protocol. They are his entire existence. 

. . . But something is wrong. He knows that, now, somehow. Something set him off, and now his thoughts skip and jump like a broken record, stuck on one thing – one man – a target, and what he did today. 

_The man on the bridge_ , he thinks. _He knew me._

_He kept looking behind me. Looking at my shadow._

_There was nothing there, but he looked, and he kept looking. It made no tactical sense to keep looking, but he looked anyway._

_He looked._

_There was nothing there._

“Mission report,” 

_There was nothing there._

"Mission report, now,"

The Winter Soldier’s left hand twitches, fingers curling around the memory of something soft; something warm, and – and – _there was nothing there_ – and-

A slap to the face brings him round, his fist clenching, ridding him of the memory of gently curling flesh fingers. He brings his face up, and looks into the eyes of the man who repeatedly asked him for a mission report moments ago. When he asks, the Winter Soldier answers, as best he can. It’s bad if he doesn’t, so he always does. 

But the best he can manage now is,  
“The man on the bridge,” He pauses, wondering how to phrase what he’s been considering. His left hand twitches again, seeking comfort that’s not there. The emptiness inside him yawns like a great, black, swirling chasm. He doesn’t even notice it, anymore. He doesn’t notice the man in front of him watching his hand, either; or the fact that, without even realising he did it, he hurt a bunch of scientists mere moments ago, in his distress. 

“. . . I knew him,” He finishes, a question inherent in his voice, even if he can’t ask what he wants to outright – even if he doesn’t know how to ask, or what he’s asking.  
“You met him on an earlier assignment,” The man tells him. He understands that. It’s not what he meant. 

“. . . He looked behind me,” The Winter Soldier adds, in a smaller voice. Again, he doesn’t ask overtly what he was looking for. It’s not his place to ask questions. They made sure he knew that a long, long time ago: he doesn’t remember it, but it’s still there, in his programming, like glass shards embedded in sand.  
“He was assessing the situation for threats,” The man suggests. 

_Suggests_. The Winter Soldier knows it’s not true.

The Winter Soldier finds his eyes drawn to the gingery-brown monkey daemon that sits patiently beside the man talking to him about how he shaped the century. He finds his eyes wandering around the room, noticing – as if for the first time – the presence of daemons beside their humans. 

He listens to the man finishing up his sentence, his eyes rolling to the left: they look past his arm, and to the floor, below where it sits, propped up, the repairs being completed as he becomes lost in cloudy, confusing thoughts he can’t remember ever having before. 

_There’s something missing_ , he thinks. He doesn’t put two and two together. Not yet. 

“. . . But I knew him,” He says, in response to the man’s words. 

The monkey-daemon climbs atop the man’s shoulder, as he straightens up, an expression close to a sneer on his face. The monkey whispers into his ear, and he nods. The Winter Soldier’s eyes water, slightly, drawn back down to the floor on his left. He’s consciously aware, this time, of how his fingers close around a comfort that isn’t there. 

A warmth he can’t quite remember, but misses dearly. He almost notices the emptiness inside, for a moment. 

But then he’s being pushed back, and strapped down, and the machines close around his head, vice-like; their minute lightning storms cause him to scream and jerk in agony. 

But even the pain can’t wipe out the emptiness. He carries it with him, like a silent, oppressive passenger. 

It’s a sick, twisted replacement for the former companion he knew, during the life he’s now unaware he ever had. 

Now, as he emerges from the mind-wipe, starting and blinking, muscles spasming and brain re-calculating, he believes once more that he never had a life; he doesn’t have one, still. 

Lives are for humans. Humans have daemons (their disappearance into dust can be used to confirm a kill). 

He doesn’t have a daemon. He’s not a human. 

That’s a truth he’s known as long as he can remember. 

-

Later on, when it’s revealed that Nick survived his assassination attempt – his daemon hidden from view, as he lay pulseless on the table – Steve asks Natasha about what he saw. He wouldn’t ask unless he really, really needed to know – and he does. 

He needs to know that Bucky can come back. He needs to know that Rebecca is out there, somewhere. Bucky’s not a ghost, or a spectre, or a monster. He still has a soul. He must. 

She purses her lips, and looks him up and down, wondering what to say. She understands his confusion, but she doesn’t like that she has to tell him about what happened to her, or what organisations like HYDRA do to their blunt instruments. 

But it’s become important that he knows, now. He deserves the truth, after saving her like he did at Fort Leigh. And after what he’s seen his friend become. 

“No one’s ever seen his daemon,” Natasha tells him. “Some people say he doesn’t have one – others say it’s too small to be seen,” She says, repeating what she told him before. He licks his lips, pausing for a second, before speaking again. 

“But it was Bucky,” Steve says dumbly, unable to articulate the fact any better than that. “. . . Bucky had a daemon. A big one. She was a German shepherd, and she used to – she used to stand just beside him, to the left, he’d put his left hand-” He swallows, catching himself before he becomes too emotional, both about the missing daemon, and the missing limb. “. . . I guess that’s gone too, now,” He murmurs, his voice scratchy and low with emotion. 

She glances down at her daemon; he looks up at her, a sad expression in his eyes. 

“What do you know about ablation, Steve?” She asks. 

Steve swallows again: this time, because he’s feeling sick. There’s nothing more horrifying, to him (and most of the human race), than a blank space where a daemon should be. 

“It kills the person,” He recounts. He remembers the headlines that read as much; not even the SSR wanted to touch ablation, after it was shown to be a complete failure. They focussed on super soldiers, rather than soulless ones, to his relief. 

Natasha shakes her head, pointedly not looking at her daemon.  
“No. In the fifties, they developed a way of making it non-lethal – organisations like HYDRA and the KGB used it on their agents to make them more brutal, and efficient – it was ruled illegal, on ethical grounds, by the sixties. But it still went on,” 

Steve shakes his head, not liking the direction this explanation is taking. 

“The person would be separated from their daemon, could go extraordinary lengths from them – as long as they were kept separate, and not allowed to interact. The later in life the separation occurs, the more of the chance of some kind of bond reforming – but the longer the separation lasts for, the more . . . _Inhuman_ the person becomes,”

Betsy’s earns prick up at that: she’s been lying with her head propped on her paws, at Steve’s feet, for the majority of the conversation so far. But now, she lifts her head, her interest piqued. 

“You mean . . . He could get better?” Steve asks, purposefully ignoring the part about how corrupted Bucky could be, by now. He doesn’t even want to know what that means, in practise. 

Natasha bites her lip.  
“I don’t know. It has a permanent and long-lasting effect on the soul . . . That kind of torture stays with a person,” She can’t resist a look at Alexi, when she says that. He curls his bushy tail around one of her legs, comforting her.  
“Is that what happened with you?” Steve asks, as gently as he can. She looks sharply up at him, taken aback by the frankness of the question – no one usually asks, outright. They don’t even respect her enough to talk about it without using euphemism, or downplaying it, usually. But Steve trusts her to tell the truth, in this matter. He wanted to be her friend, and part of that is knowing one of the worst things that ever happened to her, and Alexi. 

“Yes,” She says, though her voice is low and quiet. “. . . Alexi was cut from me before he settled,” She adds. 

Steve can’t stop his small gasp, when he hears that. Separation, of any kind, is inhumane – but to do it to a child . . . It’s nothing short of evil. 

“He never settled – not while I was working for the KGB. Imagine how good a spy you can be, if your daemon can change shape,” She tells him bitterly. He shakes his head, looking at the floor. He’s never been so ashamed of his fellow man, as he is right now – for both Natasha and Bucky’s sakes. 

Taking someone’s soul – violating it, hacking it away, for selfish purposes . . . It’s unspeakably cruel. 

“When I came over to SHIELD, he eventually settled – not in the conventional sense-” She crouches down, making eye contact with her daemon as she does so. “-he can still change, if he wants to. But he favours this form. Unless he needs to, he doesn't change as often as before,”  
“I’m sorry,” Steve says, unable to even imagine the anguish and pain Natasha has been through in her life, as a result of the cruelty she suffered at the hands of the KGB – both the ablation, and all of the horrors she’s had to commit in their name. “. . . Are you two still close?” He asks tentatively. 

She smiles sadly, at that. 

“We are,” She says, stroking her daemon behind the ears, and waiting for him to purr before continuing. “I don’t even remember what we were like before. He’s still really important, just . . . We’re more independent, of each other, than you and Betsy might be. I can leave him behind, when I go places. Nothing’s ever bringing back the bond we lost – but I’m okay with that . . . We made our peace with that fact, long ago,” She explains, before standing again. Alexi wanders out of the room, as if to illustrate the point. 

She turns to Steve, and looks him in the eye, as she tells him:  
“I don’t know the full extent of what HYDRA did to James – but if he’s alive, his daemon is, too. He’ll still die without her alive. But he probably hasn’t seen her in decades – he probably doesn’t remember her. He most likely wouldn’t recognise her as his own,” 

Steve huffs out a deep breath, and nods, accepting the news.  
“. . . But there’s still a chance,” He says. “If he gets back to her – if they reform some kind of attachment,”  
“She could be anywhere, Steve,” Natasha points out unhappily. “. . . And he’s not going to search for her, when he doesn’t even know she exists,” 

Steve sets his jaw, looking down at Betsy: she looks up at him, and he recognises her determined expression. He knows they’ve both made the same decision, in that moment. 

“Then we need to remind him who he is,” 

-

Steve remembers the day his daemon settled. It was the day of his Mom’s funeral. 

Bucky had work, that day – he couldn’t come to the funeral. But as soon as Steve got back, strolling down the street with his hands in his pockets, staring down at the floor like it was a great, roaring chasm that he hoped would swallow him whole, Bucky found him. 

“She’s buried next to dad,” He’d told Bucky. Rebecca had rubbed up against Betsy, sniffing at her, and being very affectionate. The two boys had watched their daemons silently, for a moment, paused in their conversation. 

Rebecca’s ears had pricked up, and she’d looked up at Bucky. Bucky looked at Steve, his eyebrows raised. 

Steve just nodded.  
“Yeah. She settled today,” 

Usually, when a daemon settles, it’s an occasion to be celebrated: but Steve doesn’t want to celebrate. Bucky knew that, but he still wanted to congratulate him.  
“She’s beautiful,” He said. That was so strange, to hear coming out of that usually wisecracking, joking mouth: the words were so sincere, and Steve thought he might laugh at any moment, revealing that he was joking. 

Steve had looked down at Betsy, half his height, and coming close to dwarfing Rebecca: the two daemons had stood very close, leaning on one another for comfort. 

Bucky offered for Steve to stay with him, and his folks – _couch cushions on the floor, just like when we were kids – you could probably use Betsy as a cushion, now – hell, you could probably use her as a mattress –_

Steve thought he’d forgotten his key: Betsy had looked up at him expectantly, as he searched for it in his pockets. But he was just so scatter-brained that morning, so off his game, that he’d forgotten to pick it up on his way out – but Bucky was there, just like he always was, picking the spare one up from where he knew Steve hid it. 

“Thank you, Buck – but we can get by on our own,” Steve had told his friend, trying not to appear too weak in front of him. But Bucky shook his head, and said,  
“The thing is – you don’t have to,” 

Rebecca had brushed against Betsy again, nipping at her ear; the two of them had started to rough-and-tumble playfully, with less intensity than they usually did, whenever Steve and Bucky were together. It ended up with Rebecca’s head on Betsy’s stomach, head bobbing up and down with the movement of her breathing. 

Bucky had put his hand on Steve’s shoulder, and told him,  
“We’re with you til the end of the line, pal,” 

Steve’s never forgotten those words. He doubts he’ll ever forget them, either. 

He just hopes Bucky remembers them, too, one day. 

He’ll stop at nothing to get him back: remind him of two boys, and two dogs, on the day of a funeral; how Bucky came inside, and stayed with Steve that night. How he made no comment when Steve settled on the couch with him, their limbs entwined with one another, as Bucky read to him by candlelight (Steve’s eyesight was too poor to read in the meagre illumination, and Bucky wanted to take his mind off of everything). 

Most of all, even if he doesn’t remember their time together, Steve wants Bucky to remember the part of himself that HYDRA cut away from him, and presumed they’d stolen away forever. He hopes that’s not true, and that Bucky remembers Rebecca, just as Steve remembers her: with Betsy curled around her, the pair of them a dozing mass of fur and comfort, and their humans asleep wrapped around each other in a cramped, dark, one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn. 

Even when Sam gently tells him that, whoever Bucky was before, he’s not that guy right now – _he’s not the kind you save, he’s the kind you stop_ – Steve clings on to the hope that one day, Bucky will remember him, and Betsy, and more importantly, Rebecca. 

_Til the end of the line_. He won’t let people die, and he won’t let down Sam, and Natasha – but he won’t let down Bucky, either. Bucky always meant it, when he said he was with him forever: he followed through on that promise until he ‘died’; until the choice was taken away from him, and he forgot he ever made it in the first place. 

But Steve will keep the promise for him. The very second those helicarriers are decommissioned, Bucky will be his only mission again. 

And he’ll spend every last breath he has left in him trying to help him remember who he is; who they were, when they were just two kids from Brooklyn, then Howling Commandos, then two soldiers who loved each other, and who’d follow each other anywhere they could. 

-

“Bucky, you’ve known me your whole life,” The Winter Soldier’s mission tells him. His mission fought him, and dislocated his arm, before. Then he helped free him from under a metal beam. His mission is confusing, and wrong, and he wants to beat him viciously until he goes away, ground down into nothing, so he doesn’t have to think about everything he’s hearing him say. 

“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes,” His mission continues. “Your daemon is Rebecca, a German shepherd,” 

That makes his brain short-circuit, white hot rage – _despair_ – hatred – _mourning_ – coursing through his veins. _He’s wrong. I don’t have one. I’m not a human. Humans have daemons. I don’t have a daemon. I’m not a human._

“Shut up!” He screams, hitting his mission as hard as he can, with one arm dangling uselessly at his side, flailing and causing sharp bolts of pain to rip through him with each tiny movement. 

But he doesn’t care. The sheer force of his denial – the knowledge that his mission is trying to turn him, trying to lie to him, trying to get him to see the wrong truth – is keeping him going. 

“I’m not gonna fight you,” His mission tells him, dropping his shield. “You’re my friend,” 

He doesn’t hesitate. He beats him viciously, punching him in the face again and again, until his face is a bloody, bruised mess; a pulp of flesh and blood and puffy, inflamed skin.  
“You’re my mission,” He hisses, only stating a fact.  
“Then finish it,” His mission tells him.  
“Cause we’re with you til the end of the line,” 

The Winter Soldier’s head jerks to one side, eyes wide and shocked, as he hears the voice of his mission’s daemon: the Golden Retriever has crawled on its belly to its human’s side, standing on shaking legs beside him, refusing to give up the fight. 

But they’re not fighting against him. They’re fighting _for_ him.

The Winter Soldier looks into her eyes, and sees them shine with memories that both she and her human share – the Winter Soldier shares them, too. 

He didn’t even realise that he did, until now. 

He sees one memory in particular – seeing the Golden Retriever’s final form, for the first time – and it’s bittersweet and personal, and shocks him to the core. 

His left fist, previously clenched, twitches – it’s clasping around the scruff of an absent neck. His wide eyes flicker to his side, searching for something he’s not quite sure he remembers. It might be his mind, and his body, playing tricks on him. _I don’t have a daemon. Humans have daemons. But I’m – I used to – I used to have one – it used to be by my side, all the time, within reach–_

He knows as much, because he retains the old habit of seeking its fur, for comfort. Even when he doesn’t really know what he’s looking for. 

He doesn’t remember what it was like to be connected to a daemon. He doesn’t know if he can get that back. He doesn’t know if he wants it back. 

He doesn’t even know what it looks like, anymore. He doubts he’d be able to recognise it, now. Just like he wouldn’t recognise the man he once was, now he’s become what he is. 

All of these concerns are, somehow, secondary to Steve and – and, and – _Betsy_ – staring up at him, their woozy, wet eyes determined, with no trace of surrender, or disappointment. 

Steve falls. Betsy jumps after him. 

Bucky Barnes jumps after them both, dragging Steve out of the water when Betsy is too tired, and too weak, to do it for herself. 

As Steve lies unconscious on the shore, Betsy pants at his side, on the verge of passing out herself – her large eyes look up at Bucky; Bucky stares back at her, wary and confused, and dealing with way too many conflicting thoughts – _oh God, are these feelings? Are these emotions? Are they memories, or sentiments, or expectations?_ – to be able to say anything to her. 

His hands shake as they hover over Steve for a moment. For just a second, Betsy’s head moves to nudge his metal hand. He gasps, and stands upright; he has to turn away, and walk away, unable to even acknowledge what she just did, while her human lay unconscious beneath her. 

He and that daemon have a history, he thinks to himself. It explains the presence of a memory, in his mind, that he didn’t even know he possessed – the one that broke through years of torture, and pain, and _I’m not a human, humans have daemons, I don’t have a daemon, I’m not a human-_

He’s still conflicted by the realisation that his life, as he knows it – all that he can remember of it, currently – is a lie. But he knows there’s something he needs to do, now. 

-

It takes him three different underground HYDRA facilities, in three different states, to find what he’s looking for. He knows he’s being followed by Steve Rogers and the veteran Sam Wilson: he’s not ready to see Steve, yet. He doesn’t deserve the forgiveness, or the friendship, that Steve’s offering: the gentle, intimate touch that his daemon gave his metal hand . . . She let him know that Steve would always welcome him home, regardless of what he was. Who he is, now. 

It’s too much for him to accept, as he is now. But hopefully he can forgive himself enough to accept what Steve’s offering, one day. 

Because he knows that’s not the first time he touched Betsy. He and Steve used to be close enough for that. Steve used to love him. He can only assume, given Betsy’s want – _need_ to touch him, that he still does. Maybe he never stopped. 

And maybe, _just maybe_ , he can earn back the knowledge of what it feels like to love Steve, too. 

He finds what he’s looking for in New Jersey, where it’s reported that Steve Rogers and Natalia Romanova were almost assassinated. The facility near the data point at Fort Leigh is abandoned, unlike the previous two he searched: he killed his way through every agent who stood in his way at both of them, and still came up empty-handed. They were protecting weapons, or intelligence, or research, each time: many men died protecting the projects they were assigned to, each of which he put a stop to, in the end. Forcefully. 

But the thing he searches for is unguarded. Abandoned, as if worthless. He supposes it is, really – perhaps even to him. 

It hasn’t been destroyed, though. It’s a small mercy. 

The place feels haunted. It’s military, definitely, on the inside – but outside, it’s fairly innocuous. Just another office space, anonymous and impersonal. No one’s left inside. 

He takes the stairs down to the basement: he feels a strange calling to go down there, traversing the empty corridors with a strange sense of belonging. He’s heading in the right direction – though he never knew what right and wrong were, before. 

Rights and wrongs are for humans. 

When he enters the room where he finds it, he has to blink, and shake himself: for a moment, he sees instead of the abandoned room, strewn with half-burnt papers and empty machine gun clips, a dingy factory room – a gurney, with restraints, and a cage in the corner. He can smell urine, and blood, and vomit, and _fear_ – or, at least, the memory of them. 

But when he shakes himself, he sees blackness: the lights have gone, and he’s searching with a flashlight for . . . Something. He hopes he knows what it looks like, when he sees it – though he suspects he won’t. 

If he doesn’t completely know what he’s looking for, how can he recognise it? 

He lets the flashlight’s beam travel along the walls of the room distractedly, seeing the thin layer of dust that coats everything in the room; the motes travelling through the air, disturbed by his presence. He supposes it has been weeks, now, since anyone was in this room. They were only here to destroy the evidence of their presence, too. 

He turns around, going to leave the room. There’s nothing here worth anything, to anyone. 

“Bucky,” 

He pauses: he can hear his heartbeat in his ears; his eyes focus on one specific point on the wall in front of him, and he’s completely still. 

He hears the memory of voices, sometimes, nowadays: it’s a side-effect of remembering things, that he’s suddenly brought out of whatever situation he’s in, to be shown some hellish, haunting memory that demands to be witnessed, around once a day. 

He’s not sure if that’s what’s happening here. So he freezes, and waits, for a moment more. 

“. . . Bucky,” 

_There_. That was real. It came from behind him. 

He turns around again, shining the flashlight into the room again, and in the direction of the voice: turns out, he hadn’t just imagined the cage that he’d seen in the memory, before. 

Or what was in it. 

He strides with purposeful, careful steps towards it. He looks down at it warily, and casts his gaze and his flashlight around, before crouching down. He supports himself on one knee, and frowns, shining his flashlight into the cage. 

It’s too small for what’s inside it – physically, and metaphorically, as he sees it. 

His mouth is dry, and he stops breathing, as he lays eyes on it: he feels foolish, for thinking he wouldn’t even know her, when he saw her. She’s what he’s been looking for all along. 

Dark eyes shine like ink, staring up at him, guarded and measured; she makes no sudden movements, tense and waiting. Slowly, he brings his left hand up to the bars, and cautiously sticks the metal fingers through the gaps. 

There’s a pause, in which neither of them move. Then, carefully, she noses at the fingers with her muzzle; she sniffs them, and her tongue darts out, licking the metal digits affectionately. 

Bucky’s suddenly aware that his eyes are watering; there’s a lump in his throat the size of a shotgun shell, and his breath is coming short. He bites his lip, as he sees the German shepherd shift in its confined space, her front paws restlessly padding at the floor, as she waits for him to make a move. 

Abruptly, he reaches for the lock on the cage: his movements are uncoordinated and frantic, wanting to get her out of her confinement as quickly as possible. But he can’t think straight, and his metal fingers slip against the lock, as he tries to juggle the flashlight and see what manner of lock-pick he needs. 

“Calm down,” The German shepherd tells him. He freezes, looking at her again, and acknowledging that she’s spoken to him. It’s been a long time, since any daemon has addressed him – especially his own. 

Well . . . Aside from Captain Rogers’ daemon. 

“Betsy,” The German shepherd tells him. “Steve’s daemon is called Betsy. I think you've seen her recently. Now get me out of here,” She instructs. He only pauses for a second, before nodding once, and focussing on his task. He takes out his lock-picks, and holds his flashlight in the crook of his neck, as he works on freeing the daemon. He concentrates for a few moments on unlocking the cage: he puts all emotions out of his mind, imagining that this is just another mission – impersonal and anonymous, and needing to be completed as soon as possible. 

The padlock clicks, and opens. He pulls his lock-picks free, stows them, and opens the door to the cage. 

The German shepherd comes limping out: she’s weak, and scruffy-looking, with tufts of hair sticking out at all angles. Her teeth appear overly sharp, and her claws extremely long, and sharp, as well. She’s feral – but then again, so is he. Uncontrolled, and free to roam, for the first time in a long time. 

He doesn’t stand up: he sets the flashlight down on the floor, and spends a moment just staring into her eyes, as he did before; trying to know her, again. She leans forward slightly, expecting him to make a move – he does, eventually, meeting her expectations and reaching up with his right hand, and to feel her fur. 

He sucks in a deep breath, close to a gasp, as he does so: it feels extremely strange to be in contact with her, again. He hasn’t even seen her in decades, but he remembers the feel of every tuft of fur; knows the dark shine of her eyes, and what her voice sounds like. 

She’s more than just a half-remembered ghost. 

She’s more than just an animal, and so is he. 

She’s proof that he’s human, and that Captain Rogers was telling the truth: they used to be friends – best friends, and more. It makes sense, now, that Rogers’ daemon wanted to touch him, after he rescued him from the Potomac. 

She was letting him know it was okay to come back. Captain Rogers forgives him, and wants him to come home. 

“What’s your name?” He asks the daemon, switching hands, so his left is buried in her scruff: it’s a consummation of all the times his left hand tried to seek comfort; tried to grip her, only to fail, and grasp at thin air.  
“Rebecca,” She tells him. He half-smiles, though his eyes are still watering. He sniffs, and stands up straight, taking up the flashlight once more. 

He can leave, now. He found what he didn’t really know he was looking for. 

“So?” The German shepherd asks him.  
“So what?” He asks.  
“Are we going home?”  
“. . . I’m not sure we have one,” He tells her, as they begin to leave the room. He yelps, as he feels her nip weakly at his heels – he’s not felt that in so, so long, and it takes him by surprise. It’s not an unwelcome feeling, though, to have someone keeping his thoughts in check, and guiding him. 

“You know we do,” She chastises him. 

He stares down at her, pausing for a moment. He gulps, and sniffs again, wiping at his eyes and feeling frustrated that he even let tears slip, in the first place. 

“They’ll always want us back, Bucky,” She tells him quietly. 

He tries not to freeze up, or break down in any way, when he considers that assumption: it’s easier, now, with her brushing up against his leg. It’s a source of comfort he didn’t even realise he missed. 

He still feels empty: the two of them aren’t connected like they were, before. He found some research, at the other facilities, about _cutting_ : ablation, in the form that he read was performed on him, only lasts as long as extended contact between the subject and their daemon is prevented. 

But the side-effects are long-lasting: human and daemon have no limit on the distance they can stray from one another, and their bond will never regain the strength it formerly had. They’re altered for life, now. 

But these theories are largely untested. He didn’t read too much of the research: he had to stop, becoming lost in thought; freezing up, and being sick; having panic attacks, and being unable to breathe, with no one there to talk him around. He hadn’t even been aware of what he’d been searching for, when he came across those papers – all he knew was that they made him feel bad. Really, really bad. 

He doesn’t feel so bad, anymore. Inside, he still feels a gaping sense of loneliness; the bond between him and Rebecca has been savaged, and weeps like an open wound, as he looks at her. But to the casual observer, on the street, they’re normal: a scruffy-looking man, in a green jacket, with a black baseball cap turned down, and his hands in his pockets; a German shepherd daemon – a slight colour variant, with tones of black mixed in with the usual light brown. She has sharper claws than is usual: they might think that the man has had a hard life. They would be right. 

She’s of a vicious breed, with a bad reputation. But loyal to a fault, when her trust is gained. 

But no one really looks at him twice: not even when he stands in front of the script about himself, and Rebecca, at the Captain America exhibit. With his face obscured, and his hair long, no one notices the similarity between him and Rebecca, and Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes and his trusty dog-daemon. 

If they do, then they don’t bring it up. It’s just a coincidence. Sergeant Barnes is long gone. 

But, as he stares down at Rebecca, who looks up at him with an expression he knows is a kind of smile, he realises that though Sergeant Barnes is gone forever, now . . . Bucky isn’t. 

Steve’s Bucky is still in there, somewhere. 

-

Steve’s out for a run in New York when he sees her. 

He slows up, squinting, as the dog runs towards him: she slows up, when she reaches Betsy, who’s running slightly ahead of him. 

He can’t believe his eyes: he panics, slightly, at the sight of her. She’s almost exactly like he remembers: her fur is a little darker, and she’s a little wilder, but it’s nothing some love and affection wouldn’t sort out. 

She approaches Betsy, slowing up: the two dogs size one another up, for a moment, as Steve draws nearer. The German shepherd looks up at him, getting a measure of him: she shifts, slightly, in her position in front of him. 

“. . . Rebecca?” He asks, feeling breathless – it’s nothing to do with his run. He hasn’t seen the daemon since Bucky fell so, _so_ long ago. Last time he saw her human, she wasn’t there – now, Bucky isn’t here. “. . . Where’s Bucky?” He asks, unable to help himself.  
“He’s in a bad way, Cap,” She tells him. Luckily, dawn’s just breaking: no one is around to see Captain America talking to an unaccompanied daemon in the middle of the street. “. . . But he thinks he might want to see you again, now,”  
“What have you been doing?” He asks. Betsy takes a step forward: Rebecca remains very still, as Steve’s daemon sniffs at her. She raises one paw, and paws at Rebecca, who remains still for a moment. Then, she rubs herself against Betsy, finally reciprocating the touch. Steve lets out the breath he was holding during the exchange, hoping the two daemons could achieve the kind of relationship they had before – and while it’s not exactly the same, or quite as good, it’s something. 

_It’s a start._

“We’ve been taking down rogue HYDRA agents. There are only a few facilities left, now – we think we want your help,” Bucky’s daemon tells Steve.  
“I’ve been trying to track Bucky down – and, uh, you too, I guess. If you’re with him, now,”  
“I am,” The daemon says. Steve’s struck with a feeling of joy, as he speaks to her: he hasn’t been able to talk frankly with someone else’s daemon since Bucky. Usually, they’re quiet and reserved, and only talk to their human, or occasionally to other daemons – but Rebecca always spoke to him, too. 

No one else. Just him, strangely enough. 

It feels amazing, to have that back. 

“Where were you, before?” Steve asks tentatively. 

The German shepherd looks up at him, but remains silent for a moment.  
“We’ll tell you about it later. I don’t think he wants to talk about it right now,” She tells him.  
“You don’t think?” Steve asks, frowning. If things were like they used to be, she’d know for sure what Bucky wanted. But he guesses, after so long apart – after _ablation_ . . . Yeah. Those wounds can take a long time to heal, Natasha told him; they might never. 

“We’re doing better,” Rebecca tells Steve. He nods, and glances at Betsy, who looks up at him with large eyes. He sighs.  
“Of course you can have our help,” He tells her. 

She looks between him and Betsy for a moment, before bolting away.  
“Come on,” She says. 

They run for a long time – a _very_ long time. The distance they travel is huge, but Steve doesn’t tire, and neither does Betsy: Rebecca just keeps running, for miles and miles, leading them to where they need to go. Steve finds himself concerned about the fact she’s so far away from Bucky – but then he recalls Bucky, alone on that helicarrier, no daemon at his side. It makes him shudder, and feel queasy: but that feeling is much less, now, than it was before. 

He doesn’t find it uncomfortable when he’s in a room with Natasha, and not Alexi, now. He accepts that her separation is part of her: it doesn’t make her strange, or any less of a person. It’s just part of her past, and who she is. 

He’ll get used to it with Bucky, too. He doesn’t like that he’s had to suffer, like he did – forced to do things that he’d have hated, if allowed to retain an opinion; forced to kill, and maim, and turn against the person whose safety he valued above everyone else’s in the world in his previous life. 

They find themselves in Brooklyn: Steve passes diners he was beat up behind, and parking lots he walked out of with a broken nose. Finally, they reach an alleyway Steve remembers from a long, long time ago: the one where Bucky kicked some punk’s ass, for beating Steve up; where Rebecca almost crushed that guy’s stoat-daemon to death in her jaws, striking the fear of God into her. 

It’s the alleyway where their lives changed forever, as Bucky told him he’d received his orders. _107th – Sergeant James Barnes._

Bucky’s leaning against a wall, hands in his pockets, looking down at his feet: when Rebecca rounds the corner, he nods at her silently. She sits at his feet, patiently, as Steve rounds the corner too. Clearly, they’d arranged to meet, here: somewhere with sentimental value, to Steve (and hopefully to Bucky, too). 

At least they remember something. 

“. . . Bucky?” He asks tentatively. Bucky looks up, but not at Steve – Steve follows his gaze, and sees the two of their daemons approach one another, playfully nipping at one another like they used to; ending up entwined, settled on the dingy ground, finally calm. 

Bucky bites his lip, and looks up at Steve, whose face is a picture: his expression is rapt, looking at the way their daemons associate with one another, like nothing’s changed at all, at that moment. Bucky looks sadly between Steve and the daemons. 

Steve looks at him: he notices that Bucky’s distressed by the sight of them. He’s not quite as happy as Steve is.  
“You can’t feel it?” Steve asks. 

Bucky shakes his head. “We’re – not . . .” He catches himself, unable to really finish that sentence.  
“It’ll come back, Buck,” Steve tells him. “You have to believe it’ll come back,”  
“But I won’t be the same guy I used to be,” Bucky warns him, a wary look on his face, as Steve steps nearer.  
“I don’t care,” Steve tells him. Beside them, their daemons watch them interact, as Steve places a gentle hand on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky looks down at it, and then at Steve’s face, mouth gaping slightly. 

“Til the end of the line,” Rebecca reminds Bucky, drawing their attentions. Bucky looks back at Steve’s face, and he smirks, finally looking a little less serious.  
“What she said,” He tells Bucky. 

Then eventually, after years and years of thinking he was dead, and then months and months of fighting and searching for him, Steve pulls Bucky into a hug. 

Bucky freezes, just for a moment – but finally, his arms come up and around Steve, and he hugs back tightly. He inhales the scent of him: it hasn’t changed since the forties, somehow. 

Though he can’t remember everything about Steve, or even much about himself, that familiar scent reminds him of one thing: he closes his eyes, as he recalls lying on the couch with Steve, limbs entwined and tangled together, reading until Steve fell asleep, and trying to make him feel better on the day of his Mom’s funeral; the day his daemon settled for good, and relaxed into Bucky’s daemon, wrapped up in each other on the floor, and at peace. 

Nothing has ever brought him as much serenity as the memory of that moment. It makes him feel something he hasn’t experienced, in a long time: his eyes flick over to Rebecca, whose ears prick up, and who makes a small whining noise in the back of her throat. 

He smiles, and buries his face in the crook of Steve’s neck, as the sensation of his bond with Rebecca being _oh so very slightly_ restored washes over him. It feels like home. 

He’s got a long, long way to go before he’s truly himself, again: he may never get there, truth be told. 

But he’s taking a step in the right direction. With Rebecca, and Betsy, and _Steve_ on his side, loving him and caring for him, and convincing him his life amounts to more than the suffering and the pain and the inhumanity he’s felt, and caused . . . One day, he’ll be okay. 

One day, he’ll be whole, again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the idea for this chapter (looking into Bucky's experiences during the war with his daemon) from the comment thread started by Thallys, who pointed out how hard it would be for Bucky in the army with a German Shepherd daemon (associated with German soldiers). 
> 
> The second half of the chapter deals with Bucky's recovery, and discussion of the above experiences, as well as some Steve/Bucky stuff. Hope you enjoy it!!

_July 1942_

Bucky tousles Rebecca’s fur, scratching at her head: she’s attempting to avoid his touch, trying to nip at him. He grins: it’s a competition between them. He knows she takes pride in her appearance (like he does, too) but he likes winding her up by ruffling her fur, putting it all out of place. 

“Quit it!” She hisses.  
“Lighten up,” He teases.  
“I will, when you stop!” She replies. He moves his left hand out of the way of her snapping jaws – she wouldn’t bite him hard, just a little scrape of her teeth along his skin, like when she nips at his ankles, reprimanding any of his bad or rude behaviour – and strokes her fur back into place, chuckling, and making a truce with her. 

They’re waiting to move out: they have a mission, behind enemy lines, and they won’t be coming back to camp for a little while, he knows. He feels tense, and slightly unprepared – he’s had his basic training; he’s a good fighter, and a sharp shooter, and much more suited to it than some of the other guys, but he can’t help but feel nervous. 

But he can always count on Rebecca, to make him smile: to tolerate his joking around, and help him relax. They show a confidence they don’t possess, and lift one another’s spirits. 

Then Rebecca stills, suddenly: Bucky frowns, and notices that she’s staring off at something. He follows her gaze, and sees a small group of soldiers – members of his own unit – staring back at him. They look mistrustful of him; judgemental, and wary. They were clearly watching them the whole time. 

“Ignore them,” He mutters to Rebecca. He knows what this is about. 

Rebecca’s hackles rise, and she continues to stare at the soldiers: Bucky buries his left hand in her scruff, feeling a little like he does whenever he has to pull Steve out of a fight he’s way too small to win. It’s not for lack of spirit, but when Steve decides he’s fighting someone, it usually ends in defeat and a broken nose. 

There’s a few seconds’ pause, then, in which Bucky tries to calm his daemon down; her eyes, however, remain on the daemons of the group of soldiers. She just can’t help herself. 

It’s not long before two of the soldiers approach, breaking from their murmuring group, and confronting Bucky directly:  
“Hey, Fritz,” 

Bucky doesn’t realise it’s him being addressed, at first. He doesn’t respond. 

“Fritz,” The soldier repeats, louder. Finally, Bucky looks up.  
“You talking to me?” He asks incredulously.  
“Yeah, you. And that,” He says, nodding down at Bucky’s daemon. 

Rebecca bristles, growling low in her throat. She doesn’t like being referred to so disrespectfully. Bucky stands from the crate of supplies he was sitting on before, too, drawing himself to his full height. He vaguely remembers this guy, seeing him around at mealtimes, and in the barracks. His name is Hodge. 

“What’s the problem?” Bucky asks, trying to remain civil, even as Rebecca looks like she’s going to try and savage Hodge’s bulldog daemon. Though dog daemons are the most common type in the army, the other soldier – Bucky doesn’t know his name – has a crow daemon, who looks critically down at Rebecca from his shoulder. 

“Just wondering what they’re doing letting a guy like you in the US army,” Hodge says, puffing his chest out, and keeping a wary, disgusted eye on Rebecca. That look is really starting to wear on Bucky.  
“They needed soldiers,” Bucky says blithely, deliberately misunderstanding his issue. Again, this isn’t the first time they’ve received funny looks, or heard people whispering behind their back – it’s because of Rebecca’s form. 

“German shepherd,” Hodge says plainly, pointing at Rebecca with an accusatory finger. “Just like all the Nazis. Funny, ain’t it?”  
“Got some German blood in you, Fritz?” The second soldier says, his daemon cawing loudly at Rebecca after he’s spoken. 

Rebecca is outright growling now. Even Bucky’s hand in her scruff doesn’t help much, seeing as he’s having trouble being patient with these guys, now. He’d rather kick their asses, consequences be damned. 

Bucky’s about to tell him to mind his own damn business, when he hears a placatory yet insistent voice on his right:  
“Hey Hodge, leave the guy alone,” 

Bucky turns his head – he sees a guy he recognises, again – Gabe Jones, and his buddy Dum Dum Dugan. He’s been friendly with them before, but he couldn’t find them earlier. He guesses they had special orders, or something. He knows Jones is a communication specialist, at least, speaking a whole load of different languages. They’ll all be going on this mission together, though. 

“He can’t help it that she settled like that,” Gabe points out. Dum Dum’s giant St. Bernard daemon sniffs at Rebecca; she sniffs back, and her tail starts wagging a little. Bucky relaxes slightly, right away.  
“Don’t that kind of thing run in families?” Hodge asks, though it’s a rhetorical question, meant to turn them against Bucky.  
“Are you deaf, Hodge? He didn’t choose it,” Dum Dum’s voice booms. The soldiers visibly back off.  
“Still a German dog,” Hodge mutters.  
“He’s here, ain’t he? He wants to kill some Nazis, I say let him,” Dum Dum tells them. Bucky watches, pretty surprised, as the soldiers take one last annoyed look down at Rebecca, and return to their group. 

Gabe and Dum Dum turn to Bucky:  
“What a bunch of assholes,” Dum Dum remarks cheerfully. Bucky chuckles, tension leaving him with the arrival of their friendly presence.  
“That happen often?” Gabe asks, looking concerned. His swallow daemon flits about in the air, surveying the area irritably: Bucky guesses Gabe’s restless, and feeling nervous about the upcoming mission. He can sympathise.  
“Yeah – nothing we can’t deal with,” Bucky replies stoically, not wanting to appear weak in front of his fellow soldiers, or start any rivalries. They’re all meant to get on, after all. 

This type of thing shouldn’t get to him and Rebecca, now: when the war broke out, and images of German soldiers with German shepherd daemons began circulating and appearing in propaganda, he learned to ignore stupid comments and carry on, not wanting to have to explain himself, and Rebecca, all the damn time. 

“You shouldn’t have to though. That was out of line,” Gabe says, shaking his head.  
“. . . Thanks,” Bucky says, giving them a small, grateful smile each. He feels kind of awkward – usually, he’s the one kicking bullies’ asses, and defending the little guy – it doesn’t feel good to _be_ that little guy. But he’s glad someone stepped in to support him.  
“Don’t mention it,” Dum Dum says, clapping him on the back so hard he has to take a step forward. His St. Bernard daemon is just as goofy and loud as he is, snuffling loudly as she sizes up Rebecca, who’s mildly amused. 

Bucky doesn’t know, then, that these guys will be the ones he spends the rest of his life with: the ones he’s captured with, and the ones who form Captain America's – _Steve’s_ \- Howling Commandos, along with Jim, and Monty, and Jacques. 

But he does know, then, that he’d put himself on the line for them. So when the tanks come in the night, trapping them in the trenches, with HYDRA weapons incinerating men left, right and centre, he puts his money where his mouth is. 

They’re ordered to surrender, and though he wants to keep on fighting, he sees Gabe and Dum Dum put their hands up, and realises it’s the smart thing to do. There’s a lot of shouting in German, and they’re being lined up, and marched into the dark, and to someplace they’ve never seen before; they’ve never even seen anything like it. 

When they’re in the courtyard in front of the great, industrial building, a tiny man with a piggy nose and round glasses comes to see them, with their hands on their heads, and their eyes fixed steadfastly ahead, each of them praying silently for their lives. 

Gabe understands German, and he’s right beside Bucky; Dugan's on his left. Bucky notices him shift slightly, irritable – his swallow daemon, which had retired to his breast pocket for safety, cheeps noisily. 

“What?” Bucky hisses to his fellow soldier.  
“. . . Experiments. He’s looking for subjects,” Gabe hisses back. 

Bucky pales, his eyes flicking down to Rebecca, who sits by his feet, staring up at him with large, fearful eyes. He gulps, and decides that of the two of them, he’ll be the one to keep it together, this time. If he can manage it. 

A German guard comes along, looking them all up and down: he takes a special interest in Bucky, who gets a sinking feeling, because he knows why. The guard starts to address him in German, looking between his face and Rebecca with an expectant expression. His daemon is similar to Bucky’s, though she appears disinterested and cold, unlike Rebecca. 

Bucky tries not to panic, looking over to Gabe, who’s frowning, trying to hear the conversation over the noise of the nearby . . . Well, they presume it’s a factory, as well as a POW camp. 

Then the soldier summons the man with the glasses. He looks Bucky up and down, and looks unimpressed, despite the guard’s insistent pointing at Rebecca. Clearly, the little piggy man doesn’t think she’s anything special, like the guard does. Just because she’s similar to German soldiers’ daemons, doesn’t mean Bucky is what they’re looking for. He guesses he should be thankful, for that. 

They move onto Gabe, next: they speak German to him, and he responds as quickly as he can. The guard prods him with the barrel of his gun - Bucky remembers Gabe sticking up for him earlier, and he can’t just do nothing – he steps out of line, Rebecca launching forward, and snapping at the guard’s daemon. 

“Hey!” He calls above the noise, removing his hands from his head, as Rebecca bites the German guard’s daemon on the ear. It howls, and they begin to skirmish, as the guard yelps in pain in sympathy. Bucky feels nervous on Rebecca’s behalf as the fight continues, for a moment – but soon there are guns being thrust in his face, and – well, he’s just glad they’ve stopped bothering Gabe. 

Before he knows it, he’s being grabbed by the arms and hauled forward. Then, he gets a sudden lurching feeling of sickness in his stomach: initially, he thinks it’s because he’s undergoing the realisation that he’s about to be shot, in front of his friends and fellow soldiers, and killed – made an example of – but then he realises what it is. 

He almost doesn’t recognise the sensation: it’s nothing like the deliciously pleasant, soft, curling sensation inside when he carefully scratched behind Betsy’s ear, and felt Rebecca brush against Steve’s legs affectionately. No, it’s – it’s a _violation_. His whole world slips sideways, and he struggles weakly against the men holding him, his eyes wide as he twists around, trying to see what’s going on. 

One of the other guards is bodily pulling Rebecca from the German guard’s daemon. 

He feels as if the air’s been squeezed out of him all at once, and he struggles just to breathe, the world slowing to a stand-still as he sees hands other than his – other than Steve’s, _oh God, Steve, please forgive me, I didn’t want to die today, I’m sorry_ – buried in Rebecca’s fur. 

He can hear a commotion behind him, but it doesn’t look like anyone’s being dragged out of line, like he is. No one else is having their soul grabbed, and beaten, and abused. No one else is being – no one else-

“My my, you are a brave one, aren’t you, soldier? Speaking up like that,” 

Bucky’s panting, recovering from the awful, gut-wrenching sensation he just felt and trying not to vomit, as Rebecca is _finally_ set free and allowed to run to his feet. He holds his head up – but not far, finding that the source of the heavily accented voice speaking to him is the short man with the glasses. His tiny mouse daemon – _no, not a mouse, a rat_ – pokes out from his pocket, momentarily, before losing interest. 

His expression is twisted and mocking, like his words, as he looks Bucky up and down like he’s a meal. Bucky’s face twists into a sneer, his sick feeling of fear from just moments ago evolving into anger and rebellion. 

“Can’t let you pick on my friend. Sorry, Fritz,” He tells the man, though his voice is slightly slurred. 

The man takes off his glasses, shaking his head as he wipes an imaginary speck of dust from one of the lenses, taking his time in doing so despite his hectic surroundings.  
“I am Swiss, soldier,” He corrects, replacing the glasses, and smiling up at Bucky, who shrugs, even with his limited mobility.  
“Same thing,” He comments glibly.  
“Not too bright, though,” The man comments to one of the guards, smirking. The guard doesn’t say anything. “. . . Look at this. Just like one of our own,” The man says, indicating Rebecca. She begins to growl, bearing her teeth at the little man. The rat daemon pokes out of his pocket again, climbing up to his shoulder, and whispering in his ear, presumably. Bucky watches, sneering still. 

“And a fighting spirit. It looks like we have our volunteer,” 

Before Bucky knows what’s happening, he’s being dragged away – and that awful, sickening sensation, like vertigo and claustrophobia rolled into one hideous, nauseating feeling, is back: someone is bodily restraining Rebecca, and though she’s snarling and snapping her teeth, she’s being subdued by several different people, now. Six hands on her body is too much for them both to cope with: Rebecca whines, and Bucky twists and cries out, barley hearing the commotion behind him as Gabe and Dum Dum, along with a few of the others that were caught with them, start to protest loudly, demanding to know what's about to happen to Bucky. 

Bucky doesn’t imagine that anything could be worse than the journey to the tiny room where he’s kept for the next couple of weeks: his vision whites out, and he vomits a few times simply from the sensation of people touching Rebecca, and trying to control her, and suppress her. 

He never stops fighting, though. In the end, that’s his downfall: the flaw that interested the man with the glasses in the first place. All his previous subjects had been too weak – their connection with their daemon had been frail, at best, and their strength of body and character hadn’t been enough to survive his experiments – both the body enhancements, trying to emulate Dr. Erskine’s formula, and the various daemon separation and distance procedures. 

Bucky survives the distance experiments: he's able to withstand long periods of being dragged away from his daemon, though he screams and begs for them to stop touching her. He even survives the drugs and the various versions of the serum, and the things they test its effectiveness with – he doesn’t change in size, or stature, so they test that it worked using poisons, and by hurting him to observe his healing, and with torture – mental, physical – and emotional, always keeping his daemon caged and much too far from him for comfort. 

They're about to perform the full ablation procedure on him when the assault on the factory takes place. Dr. Zola has to grab his research and run, and hope that – in his travels – he'll be lucky enough to come across someone with Bucky and Rebecca’s resolve, to put his plans into full motion for HYDRA. 

No one expects him to be reunited with Bucky once more. 

He gets his super soldier, alright. A cold, amnesiac, soulless assassin, with no daemon to speak of. She's ordered away, to be stored in whatever country the soldier is in, as a failsafe, in case he strays too far. 

They come close to killing her, a few times. But she is never a weakness for him, like that first time Dr. Zola saw him step out of line, to defend his friend: he removed that dependence, that weakness, but kept the fighting quality, and the resolve. 

Zola made him strong. He cut away the weaknesses – the companion in the form of his soul, and in the form of his friends, and Steve – and forged the Winter Soldier, from the remains of the man he tortured. 

He never imagined the Winter Soldier would remember what he lost. 

-

_Present day_

It’s a few months since Rebecca approached Steve and Betsy in the street, leading them to her broken-down human. Steve convinced Bucky to come home with him, that night, after spending all day in one of the old diners he was once beaten up behind: it’s not the same as he remembers. In fact, it’s now a novelty sort of place, claiming to be ‘retro’ and from the fifties: it’s a pretty laughable attempt to be vintage, but Steve doesn’t mind. It looks the same from the outside, and that’s enough of a comfort for him. 

They stayed there all day: Rebecca and Betsy curled up with one another under the table, entwined in one another and just lying still, as Steve and Bucky ordered coffee. Bucky was hesitant to order food, at first: he bit his lip, and looked at Steve, when the waitress came to ask them what looked good. 

Steve had asked her for a moment, with a quick smile. 

Bucky didn’t have any money for food. He hadn’t been eating properly, aside from what he could steal, or get from shelters. Steve told him it was okay, and he’d get the tab. 

He’d thanked him mechanically. He didn’t like the idea of being dependent on anyone else, ever again, after what HYDRA did to him – how they treated him, and what they took from him. He’d felt Rebecca’s nose nuzzle at his foot, licking gently at his ankle in comfort, at that thought. That had been a strange sensation. 

That was another reason he was reluctant to go home with Steve that night, and live with him: aside from being ashamed of what he'd become, and what he did to Steve, he didn’t want to be reliant on Steve for everything. 

But, as the months went by, he started to feel a lot less like he was the one who needed Steve, and more like Steve was the one who needed him. 

It’s clear to him, now, that Steve was lonely before: he used to live alone, before moving into the Avengers tower, and – despite the other Avengers’ best intentions, and their friendship, and their help – Steve has trouble relating to them, sometimes. Sam and Natasha, especially, are brilliant friends – but Steve doesn’t want to burden them with his presence all the time. 

He loves having Bucky there: it’s clear as day, the way Betsy bounds up to Rebecca every time she sees her, ready to rough-and-tumble. They’ve started doing that a lot more, recently. 

The way the two dog daemons behave with one another makes some of the other Avengers uncomfortable. Their daemons awkwardly watch the two of them being so close, and intimate; they feel unsettled by the fact that Bucky still sits on the other side of the room from Steve, unaware of what’s going on with the manifestation of his own soul just out of view, for the most part. 

Sometimes when Betsy’s chasing Rebecca, the latter will run into the next room, and the next: Betsy will slow up, casting her gaze back to Steve. Steve will look up from whatever he’s doing, feeling a tug in his chest that means she’s strayed slightly too far for comfort. 

“We agreed,” Bucky pipes up, addressing his own daemon: “Don’t go where she can’t follow,” 

Rebecca traipses back into the room, settling at Bucky’s feet, and muttering,  
“I forgot,” 

Bucky just buries his metal fingers in her fur, comforting her. She’s clearly mad at herself. 

Betsy doesn’t mind the occasional slip-up, like that, though. It’s all part of Bucky and Rebecca getting better. They can still travel as far as they like from one another – but they choose not to, more often than not, now. And that can only be good news. 

-

Bucky asks, more and more, about their past. He asked about his daemon settling, once: Steve said they weren’t close, back then. They were very young, and Bucky was just a kid in his class: everyone said his Mom was dead, and then one day, his dad was dead, too; his daemon settled, and teachers whispered, and no one really talked about it. 

He tells Bucky that his daemon settled very early, because of that trauma. She terrified the other kids, being so mature, and large, and potentially dangerous. But she and Bucky used those things for good: they defended Steve, forging a friendship that turned into a loving relationship; an association that withstood the test of time – even when Bucky and Rebecca’s bond didn’t. 

That leads Bucky to ask about exactly how close they were: Steve usually likes to joke, and add humour wherever he can into their stories, trying to cheer Bucky up as much as possible – God knows, he’s had a serious enough life, so far. But when it comes to this, he finds himself unable to joke around. 

He explains that yes, they were together – and no, he doesn’t expect that of Bucky now, if he doesn’t want it. Honestly, he’s not sure Bucky’s in any fit state to be anything like that to anyone: he’s still having trouble reconciling the old Bucky with what he’s become; still having trouble reconnecting to Rebecca, for God’s sake. 

But Bucky still insists on sleeping in the same bed as Steve: he started a few days after he moved into the Avengers Tower. Waking up alone is something he doesn’t enjoy, especially when sometimes, his and Rebecca’s schedules differ – she sometimes wanders off in the night. He’d ask her not to, but he knows she can’t help it, sometimes. So he doesn't ask. 

If she’s not there, Steve will do. And he does feel for Steve, still: there’s some unquantifiable feeling he retained for Steve, even when he wanted to deny that he knew him; something that kept him fighting, trying to break through, and take control again. 

_Til the end of the line_.

Steve also told him that he used to touch Betsy: he confessed that she touched his hand while Steve was passed out on the shore of the Potomac. 

Steve had looked down at his daemon, who gave him the puppy-dog eyes, at that point. He was a little surprised, but not upset, by the news. 

The three of them – Steve, Betsy and Bucky – curl up in Steve’s bed, most nights. Sometimes Rebecca joins them, sometimes she doesn’t. Betsy doesn’t touch Bucky without consent, and he doesn’t touch her, either. 

Not unless Steve says it’s okay. 

Bucky’s sad to learn that he never had a normal family life, really. But the news that his family were long gone before he went away to war just makes him more curious about his friends; his fellow soldiers, and brothers-in-arms. 

Steve makes Bucky a cup of coffee, and lets him look through an old photo album he got back from the Smithsonian exhibit recently; a focussed and curious expression is fixed on Bucky's face, as he does so. Steve offers a quiet commentary, pointing slowly at the pictures as he tells the stories – Dum Dum’s corny jokes and St. Bernard daemon, and James’ posh accent and ferret daemon included – he makes no sudden movements, still. The memories of Bucky’s bad days are still fresh, in his mind. 

Steve tells him about the Howling Commandos: about Dum Dum, and Jim, and Gabe, and Jacques, and James. He tells him about their daemons, and their missions, looking out for each other; about how they were like family to one another, when Bucky didn’t have one. They were brothers in arms, and they defended one another at all costs. Steve shows him a brand new photo album, not as battered as his personal one, compiled for him by the Smithsonian in thanks for ‘lending’ them a whole load of his original photographs, featuring a bunch of recently-recovered photos of the Howling Commandos. 

Tentatively, he tells Bucky that it was on one of their missions that they lost him. Bucky says he remembers falling; Rebecca gently butts her head against his leg, as he sits on the couch. Steve wishes Bucky didn’t have to remember that, but he guesses he should count his blessings – it would probably be worse if Bucky didn’t remember _anything_. 

. . . Probably. 

-

The memories of standing up for his fellow soldiers, and being taken away for experiments by Doctor Zola, come back to Bucky in a dream – a nightmare. 

He wakes up, the feeling of poison in his veins causing him to break out in a cold sweat, panting and gasping for air; he can still feel the aching and the exhaustion and the nausea. His jaw aches from being clenched tightly shut, his whole body seizing up, before jerking like he was having some sort of seizure. He was just going through the motions of the memory, it seemed. 

His left arm flies out, searching automatically for his daemon: he grabs a handful of fur in the dark, and relaxes immediately. 

But it doesn’t feel right. And he hears a strangled gasp from beside him. He opens his eyes. 

He looks down, and sees his prosthesis gripping tightly onto the scruff of Betsy’s neck – not Rebecca’s, like he planned. He gasps, his eyes flying to Steve in the dark. 

Steve had been watching him, woken up by a whimpering noise that seemed to be coming from Bucky, though his jaw was clenched firmly shut; his eyes were screwed shut, too. It’s normal of Bucky to search for Rebecca for comfort – even if their bond isn’t the same, they still provide stability and comfort for one another – but she’s not in the room, having wandered off in the night, like she does sometimes. Bucky thinks that maybe she just can't stand seeing him while he's having a nightmare. 

He’s never accidentally grabbed Betsy before. Steve was unconscious, the last time Bucky touched Betsy (or rather, when Betsy touched Bucky, as it happened, on the shore of the Potomac): Steve can’t forget what it felt like to have his daemon touched, whether it be when Bucky was leaving for war, or when they were more intimate with each other in their down-time between missions. But this isn’t quite like that. 

He’s shocked, by it: shivers wrack his body, and he lets out a strained, “Bucky-”

Adrenaline courses through him, and he tries to steady his breathing, as he becomes used to the sensation of Bucky touching Betsy. It doesn’t take as long as he guesses it might: after just a few seconds, the familiar sensations of comfort, and pleasure take over. 

“I – I didn’t mean to-” Bucky stutters, removing his prosthesis from Betsy’s fur. 

But she whines. Bucky freezes, looking down at her; his eyes flick up to Steve, in the dark. He doesn’t know what to do, until he feels Steve shift on the bed; feels his hand cover the prosthetic hand, and push it back down onto Betsy’s fur. 

“. . . Don’t stop,” Steve whispers, though his voice still has that same breathless, shocked quality to it. 

It really comforts Bucky: the show of trust heartens him, and lets him know that Steve really means it when he says he still feels the same way about Bucky, even with all that he’s done; all that’s happened to him, both physically, mentally, and in terms of his daemon. 

Bucky strokes his metal fingers through Betsy’s fur for a long, long time: Steve’s breathing becomes less erratic as the initial shock of the contact diminishes. However, it doesn’t normalise: his chest is still heaving, and his eyes are glued to Bucky’s shadowy face. Neither of them have turned on a light, and the only illumination in the room is the silvery light of the moon seeping through Steve’s curtains. Bucky’s face is pensive, yet content, as he calmly continues touching Betsy. 

Steve can’t look away from that face: he’s missed it for so, so long now. And this touch . . . He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it. His fingers tighten in the sheets, and Betsy whines, as Bucky brings up his second hand to scratch behind Betsy’s ears. 

“Bucky-” Steve groans, and it’s clear he’s enjoying the sensation as much as Bucky is. Bucky bites his lip, looking down at Steve: he looks practically wrecked, breathing heavily, his eyes half-lidded. 

One of Steve’s hands drops down beside the bed, and he startles slightly as it brushes against something: he looks down, and sees Rebecca, who slipped into the room undetected by both Steve and Bucky. 

When Steve touches Rebecca, though, Bucky tenses up: his panicked expression, complete with wide-eyes and flared nostrils, is accompanied by him tightening his grip on Betsy for security. 

“It’s okay, Buck,” Steve murmurs, his eyes drawn to Bucky’s in the darkness. His face is obscured, but Steve can see from the way he’s holding himself that he’s suddenly been overcome by fear. That, plus the fact that his grip on Betsy has tightened.  
“I – I’m sorry,” Bucky mutters, loosening his grip again (but not releasing Steve’s daemon entirely). “. . . They used to . . .” 

He tries to say it, but fails. Steve already knows what he means. 

“It’s different when it’s not . . . _Consensual_ ,” Steve says. Bucky nods: he’d forgotten what it was like to touch the daemon of someone he loved; to have his daemon touched by someone he loved in a safe environment. 

He supposed they cut all that out, along with the rest of him – and along with the bond between Rebecca and him. 

Both his and Steve’s eyes are drawn to the side of the bed, when Rebecca starts to lick Steve’s fingers. 

“Aw, man – don’t do that, that’s gross,” Bucky chides her. Steve chuckles: Rebecca clearly knows how to break the tension.  
“I’ve seen you do worse,” Rebecca says, looking pointedly up at Bucky.  
“Hey,” Steve says, talking to Rebecca directly. She looks up, her ears pricked up. “. . . Would you mind staying put at night? . . . I know it's hard, and you like to wander around, but I think Bucky wants you to stay with him, in case he has – nightmares,” Steve says, though they’re more like night terrors. Or just memories. 

Rebecca looks over to Bucky, who bites his lip: he didn’t want to ask her outright. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to ask that of her, now. He doesn’t want to boss her about, or control her, but . . . They need to be closer, again. He wants that and so does she, he thinks. 

“. . . I thought you wouldn’t want me here,” She says. 

“Of course I want you here,” Bucky blurts. There’s a pause, for a moment.  
“Stay on the floor. With me,” Betsy suggests. She sleeps on the bed, usually – but the two of them used to sleep on the floor, intertwined. She wants to do that again.  
“Okay,” Rebecca says quietly, and makes her way to the foot of the bed. Betsy looks up at Bucky, who removes his hand from her fur, before joining Rebecca. The two daemons settle down together, revelling in each other’s presence, and curling up into one big mass of fur, as Steve and Bucky watch. 

Once the two dogs are settled, Steve settles, ready to sleep again – but Bucky catches him on the shoulder, drawing his attention. Slowly, and ever so carefully, Bucky draws nearer to Steve: he wants to emulate their daemons, and be close to one another. He buries himself deep into Steve’s side, laying his left hand over Steve’s heart. He flinches from the cold at first – Bucky can’t help but smirk at that, to which Steve mutters, “Jerk,” 

After a second, he asks, “. . . What’s this about?”  
“I want things to be how they were,” Bucky answers simply.  
“You don’t have to rush things,” Steve points out.  
“That’s not-” Bucky sighs, and realises he’ll have to tell the whole truth. “. . . Feeling you’re here might help stop the nightmares,”  
“. . . What are they about?” 

Bucky shifts slightly, shutting his eyes, and remembering what he’d seen in his dreams: he describes what he sees to Steve.  
“I remember the other soldiers were . . . _Prejudiced_. Because of Rebecca – the German soldiers-” Steve nods, and Bucky is thankful he doesn’t have to explain further. “. . . Then Gabe, and Dum Dum – they stepped in, and I thought I’d defend them like that, too, any chance I got – then we got caught, and I – I don’t know, they liked my spirit, or some bullshit. And they liked the look of Rebecca . . . They-” He gulps, taking a deep breath to hold back the resurgence of nausea he’s feeling. His eyes squeeze more tightly shut, as he continues: “. . . They tortured me. All sorts – poisoning, and drugs, and cuts, burns . . . They kept me alone. They kept her too far away,” He explains. Rebecca makes a low, sad noise in the back of her throat. Betsy licks at her face, trying to comfort her. 

“. . . Then when they got me back – they took her away, and they kept me even more alone – for, for decades – no one even spoke to me, Steve,” He says. “No one cared, and I didn’t – I didn’t even have her there-” He shuts his mouth, at that point, afraid a sob will come out if he keeps it open. 

“You don’t wanna feel like you’re alone anymore,” Steve realises, feeling stupid for not understanding, before, why Bucky wants to hold him close like this. Bucky nods. 

Steve brings up a hand to tuck an errant lock of hair from Bucky’s forehead behind his ear: he scratches gently at his scalp, stroking a calming hand through his hair, as Bucky did to Betsy a few minutes ago; it has a similar effect, causing Bucky first to shiver, then relax under the touch. 

“You don’t have to be alone ever again, if you don’t want,” Steve whispers.  
“People will still think we’re strange, though,” Bucky says, referring to him and Rebecca. “She doesn’t know how far is further than normal – and neither do I,” He points out. It’s true – Rebecca roams much further than any other daemon Steve’s ever seen. Except Natasha’s, that is - but she’s been separated from Alexi, too. 

“I’ll let everyone know there’s nothing wrong with you,” Steve says, smiling at the hypothetical. “I’ll convince them,”  
“You don’t have a good history with fighting people in the street,” Bucky says, snorting. “. . . One of the first memories I got back was of me pulling you out of some fight in a back alley – the one next to the old movie theatre, where we met up a few months back,” Bucky tells him, and he nods. “You were getting the tar beaten out of you,” He recalls, with a fond smile. 

Steve smiles too. He’s glad Bucky remembers defending him – it was a pretty big part of their childhood, given his own tendency to pick fights with strangers over the stupidest things. He just never could let anything stand – and Bucky never could let him get too badly hurt for it. 

“I had him on the ropes,” Steve mutters to Bucky. 

Bucky only remembers that phrase being used twice, in his life: once when Steve had to be pulled out of that fight; once when he had to have his ass saved by Steve, before he fell. 

Steve couldn’t save him and Rebecca, that time. But they both know he’ll do anything in his power to save them both this time around. 

It’s up to them, though, to get back to where they were: Bucky opens his eyes a crack, and sees Rebecca and Betsy snoozing quietly on the floor at the foot of the bed – and he hopes that they can do it. 

Steve thinks they can, so maybe they can.


End file.
